The Real Folk Blues
by So Sardonic
Summary: Those thought to be dead arent, those alive wish for death. When the dead and living meet, there's bound to be conflict. When Spike finds Faye after his 'death' does she want to be found? Rating may change
1. Arrivals

The Real Folk Blues  
  
She sighed. Half a year. She died half a year ago. She supposed she was still alive but. It was as if she wasn't really there. She hardly cared for anything anymore. She would spend hours just sitting in bed staring up at the ceiling. She would just sit in the shower and let the water pour down her face and into her slightly gaped mouth. It was as if she wasn't really alive.  
  
And who was to blame? Personally, she blamed him. He shouldn't have left. He shouldn't have left the Bebop. Shouldn't have left her. But he did. He sauntered off and got himself killed. They said the only one that could kill one of them was the other. It was true. Only he could kill him. Only he could have killed Spike. Vicious.  
  
She had left close after Spike, trying to prevent him from doing the stupid. Trying to prevent him from dying. She showed up too late. She got there and there was nothing. No Spike, no Vicious. Of course there was some henchmen there to clean up. But where was he? She sure couldn't just saunter up and ask where they were, she probably be killed instantly.  
  
But she knew he had to be dead. He would have returned otherwise. She had waited at the Bebop at first, but the pain got to be too much. She would walk by his room and almost break down. Who'd have known she loved him? She had kept it secret from herself even. She refused to love anyone. Love only led to complication. Look at Spike, after all. He was gone all because of her. All because of Julia. She supposed she should blame Spike also. He had after all gone after his best friends girl. Who would have thought they would end up killing each other?  
  
Now she hardly felt anything. She was still a bounty hunter, more ruthless now than ever. She was less careful now. She had gotten shot more times in three months than ever before. She had scars now. So many scars. All because of him. He killed some of her when he left. He killed her when he went off and died on her. There was only half of her now. The only guy she couldn't get was the guy she had to fall for. The only guy..  
  
Damn you Spike.  
  
Her voice echoed off of the still room. She had left the Bebop. She had left her other life. Who was she now? She definitely was no longer 'Faye Valentine.' Who was she then? Good question. She was. She was no one. Absolutely no one. And all because of him. How had he managed to sneak on her like that? How had he managed to hurt her like that? Never again. Never again.  
  
She sat on the barstool at the rank bar. She had gone to Callisto. Why? She didn't know really. The only thing for her here was trouble. But she was so used to trouble. What would she have without it? This was the same club that she had met him at. He was someone she just wanted to pour her heart out to. She wasn't in love with him but. He just seemed to be the type of guy that would understand everything you told him. The kind of guy that didn't ask questions but was a good listener. Mr. Saxophone. Gren.  
  
He died too though, didn't he? Vicious. She should blame him for Gren's death. She should blame him for Spike's as well. Why'd they both have to die-  
  
"Scuse me miss," a drunken voice slurred and a hand landed roughly on her shoulder. "Me an my boys was wonderin' how much you charge."  
  
"Fuck off."  
  
Laughter was heard behind her. "That ain't the right answer."  
  
Hands grabbed out and caught her shoulders and waist. She pulled out a 'concealed' gun and fired once behind her, hitting the man that held her straight in the stomach. She rolled out of his grasp and fired at his friend who charged her, nailing him right between the eyes. His five other friends all pulled out guns and aimed at her. She pulled out another gun and shot for their knees while dodging gunfire. She cursed as she ran out of ammo. She didn't have time to reload. She threw her guns hitting one man in the face as she rolled and landed a swift kick to his stomach. She connected an elbow to another man who snuck up from behind her and then a swift punch to another man. The two men left unbattered picked up their friends and decided a chick wasn't worth the trouble.  
  
The commotion in the club had ceased when her first shot was fired. Now they looked at her as she picked up her guns and sat back on the barstool to reload them. The bartender walked over.  
  
"Scotch on rocks," she said, putting her guns back where she pulled them.  
  
The bartender nodded before hesitantly looking at her again. "You're shot, you know that right?" Faye looked down. She had a bullet hole in her side. She stared at it as if she didn't believe it was really there. She felt no pain right now. She was dead after all.  
  
"Yeah. I know." The bartender nodded. "Give me some Sake, too. In a bottle not a glass." She probed the bullet hole with her finger and winced. There it was. There was the pain. She savored the feeling a second. It made her feel warm in a strange way. She had felt nothing for so long, she had been cold for so long. She could barely feel anymore. She no longer had anything to feel for. But now. She knew she would feel something when she had to pull the thing out, though. That would hurt like hell.  
  
"Look what you did to me, Spike," she whispered before downing the Scotch in one swing and grabbing the bottle of Sake. She set the money on the counter and left, still looking at the hole in her side. It was bleeding. She had gotten so used to seeing her own blood, but not feeling, oh no, not feeling. Her blood ran down her side. It was going to stain, she was sure. She smiled looking at it. It was so odd in contrast to her fair skin. Red truly was a pretty color.  
  
Why had she come here, she wondered as she headed toward the blue apartment complex where she had a room. Why had she come here, to a city with virtually no women and scum everywhere? She guessed. she expected, that they would be here. She just felt that Spike and Gren would be here, waiting for her. But, they were both dead, weren't they?  
  
"A shower," she muttered. "A shower is what I need."  
  
And besides, men only led to heartache.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Why had he come here? Back to this desolate planet? He had no where else to go, nothing else to do with his life. Life. What a cruel word. Why did life have to be so trying, so hard? He had died before. He supposed he was still alive, but at the same time he was dead. He had no life anymore, really. He was just another shadowless bounty hunter, disappearing among the crowds. He had died twice now. Twice had he picked up and disappeared, leaving no trace of himself.  
  
They're better off without me anyway.  
  
How much of him believed that? Enough of himself to keep from going back. It was too late now. Six months had passed, they would kill him. He wanted to know what happened to them, but he restrained himself. No use getting caught up again. Faye was probably still bounty hunting, catching someone then blowing her money all in one place. Jet would have some kind of work, be it a bounty hunter or a cop, and he would still spend hours staring at those shrunken trees of his. Ed would. well be Ed somewhere, with the mutt with her. So what was he stressing about? Besides, Callisto was a great place to hide out. The only people here were fugitives anyway, which meant the hunting was good. For once in a long while, he had spare cash, and lots of it. He had a good place to stay, and even a garage for his ship. So, why was he so paranoid?  
  
Blang, bang!  
  
He looked up. Those were gunshots. Near him too. Sounded like they were coming from where he was headed, one of the only bars on this planet that didn't lace their drinks with anything. He sighed. Hopefully no one gunned down the bartender, and the place was still running. He picked up his steps. But if the bartender got shot, there would be free drinks. He entered the bar to find that no, the bartender hadn't been shot, and he sighed, just a little bit. But the bartender was staring out the door that he just walked through as if he was hoping for something. He looked back at the door but all he saw was a puddle of blood. Maybe he was dazed by something that had happened.  
  
S'not like it matters though.  
  
He took a seat at the end stool, where Julia sat when she was here, and tapped the counter. "What'll it be?" the bartender asked.  
  
"Scotch on rocks."  
  
The bartender stared at him as if he was mad. He returned the look for a second, then it became frustration.  
  
"What the hell's wrong with you?"  
  
The bartender blinked and apologized. "It's just that she just ordered the same thing, in the same tired voice as yours, not to mention you're sitting in her seat." The bartender quickly turned away but returned soon after with his drink.  
  
"She? There was a woman in here?" He asked, not really caring.  
  
"Yeah. Pretty thing too. Had this violet hair and these green eyes, not to mention that figure she was showin off under those skimpy clothes of hers. She looked upset though, didn't help none that those guys were hassling her."  
  
He froze. No, it couldn't be. her. It couldn't be Faye. But the bartender had just described her. The violet hair, the green eyes, the clothes. Who else could it be? But if it was Faye then.He had to get outta here before she saw him, before she heard he was here. But if Faye was here alone.  
  
"Hassling her? Was that her gunshot I heard?"  
  
Bartender nodded. "Yeah. She whipped em pretty good though. Got herself shot too. She didn't even seem to notice it though, till I pointed it out to her. But she had quite a few scars now that I think about it. That's her blood on the floor."  
  
He was on his feet in an instant. What the hell had the girl done to herself? She had been shot and was hurt bad enough that she had to leave. Where had she been shot anyway? His last excuse, his last resolve to keep himself away from her was broken. She was on this planet, but for how long? And what had the bartender said? That she had scars? He knew Faye was quite the troublemaker but. he never saw any scars on her. None that were visible anyway, and she showed off a whole lot with that outfit she wore.  
  
"Which way did she go?"  
  
The bartender looked at him. "What, you know her? Or you just want her?"  
  
He gave him a look telling him to shut the hell up and tell him what he wanted to know. He couldn't help but get a feeling that this was his fault. He wanted to argue, he wanted to tell himself that he wasn't responsible. He just wanted to live for himself. He didn't want the responsibility that others brought on him, the responsibility that they brought on him. He thought that by keeping dead that the responsibility would go away, that if he were dead that they would forget he existed and move on without him. And look at what was happening now.  
  
"That way," the bartender pointed out the door. "If you don't find her know that she comes here around ten everyday just come then."  
  
He nodded and headed out, what he was once determined to get away from, he was now determined to find. She couldn't have gotten all that far anyway, he had just heard the gunshots. He hoped that he was right.  
  
~*~*~  
  
The door shut behind her, automatically locked. Faye walked into the bathroom, still leaving little drips of blood on the floor with every step. Rummaging under the sink she pulled out a medical kit, a worn plastic box with a snap off lid, that was once white but was now a dingy gray, with a cheap red cross, drawn with a marker, to symbolize its purpose. She grabbed it and with a few purposeful strides, arrived in her living area where she started off.  
  
Faye slipped out of her clothes and covered the couch with a ratty old blanket before sitting down, with the medical kit and sake in her lap, in her underwear and bra. She looked at the bullet hole, a few inches left of her naval, sighed, and pulled out a pair of brownish stained needle nosed pliers. Taking a quick sip of Sake, she set it on the floor and set in to work. A lot of wincing and probing later, the tip of the pliers touched the bullet imbedded in her. Biting back a small shout, she fixed the pliers around the bullet and with a mighty yank, tugged it free. Her eyes went wide as the effects of what she did hit her. She then squeezed her eyes shut, muttered something about fucking idiots, and lifted the bottle of Sake to her mouth once more. She muttered angrily when she realized she hadn't had much of the Sake, due to the small size of the bottle, and decided that she couldn't drink the pain away this time, she had work in the morning.  
  
With more grumbling and an exceptional amount of pain, Faye managed to sew her side shut with fishing wire and a sewing needle, clean her blood off of everything, and hobble into the bathroom to take her long awaited shower. The water felt so good. The treat that she had managed to buy for herself was a nice large bottle of shampoo that smelled of French Vanilla, was rubbed into her hair and she almost groaned with the pleasure of it. Even the dead need something nice, she decided. She finished washing but just sat there, enjoying the heat of the water, with her mouth slightly gaped, and her troubles miles away.  
  
Click, click.  
  
Her eyes shot open. That was the sound of her door being picked. She jumped out of the shower, wrapping a towel quickly and sloppily around her exposed flesh, but still managed to show a lot of leg. Grabbing a gun she had hidden in a box under the sink, she hustled into the living room with her gun pointed at the door. The door clicked with a pop of defeat and slowly creaked open.  
  
The intruder thrust his head through the door and their eyes met. She had her gun up, ready to fire, but she just stood there, staring. Staring and not able to pull her eyes away. No, it must be an illusion, she told herself, but once she rubbed her eyes he was still there. The one she had loved, the man she had cried for.  
  
But no, he was dead.  
  
"Faye," he greeted in his casual lazy voice. 


	2. Situations

Myruu! Howdy! Oh, yes, last chapter I forgot the disclaimer, so I say it now. I, Gatgo, do not own Boycow Bopbe (I'll switch it around for you slow ones: Cowboy Bebop) and I, Gatgo, am only 'borrowing' the cast for. well, I dunno, FOREVER!! Muahaha!! Erm, no, really. I have an imagination but, I couldn't EVER come up with a bish like Spike! Mmm, he's yummy! Oh, Viscous is yummy too, but Spike is YummyERest. AAH! They're BOTH secksy, alright? Now, for the main attraction: *lights swirl around in bright circular. circles* Boycoy Bopbe(I luv saying it that way), The Real Folk Blues, chapter two: Situations  
  
~*~*~ It was him. It was Spike. He was here, now! But she couldn't believe. She couldn't believe that he had come back to life, she tried but she couldn't. She waited those first three months. She had waited for him, not believing that he was really dead. Not believing that he could be dead. She had been in denial for three months and it had hurt like hell. Then she finally came to realize that he wasn't coming back. Now it was like being in denial all over again, and denial had caused so much pain when she snapped from it... Her shock gave way to anger.  
  
"Get out.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Get the hell out."  
  
He stared at her blankly, obviously wondering why. She didn't want to see him? His mind shifted and weighed the possibilities of why she didn't, but his feet had yet to move from their spot. He had yet to budge. He was simply staring at her, looking her straight in the eye. His look was intoxicating. Two different colors.  
  
"Did you not hear me? I said get the hell out of here."  
  
"Wait, Faye I."  
  
"I don't care!" she shouted. "You left, you're dead now. You're dead to everyone and you sure as hell are dead to me!" She took an angry step forward, not flinching at the pain in her side. She steadied her hand and aimed. "Get out or I'll shoot you out."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Three."  
  
"Faye, wait I..."  
  
"Two."  
  
"Damn it Faye, just listen."  
  
"One."  
  
She looked at him, her face stone cold but her eyes showing she was about to break down. She had shot him. Well, at him anyway. She had missed by less than an inch. He felt the bullet whiz past his shoulder and heard the soft thud as it embedded itself in the hard wooden door. He looked at the bullet before his eyes reverted back to her. Her cold facade was slipping. Her hand twitched. Her eyes watered. She began to back away unsteadily.  
  
"Leave... Just leave. Go back to being dead. Go back to being a shadow."  
  
He took a step forward, despite her pleas. What was wrong with her? He shook his head at himself. They've changed, he realized. Faye had once held a gun up to him after an argument had gotten out of hand and she felt backed into a corner. He knew she wouldn't shoot him though, so he had been able scoff at her and leave. But now as he looked at her, he knew that if he backed her into a corner she would shoot him for real.  
  
"Faye," he said uncertainly as he took another step toward her shaking form.  
  
"No. No, no, no, no." She was crying now. Her forearm wiped her tears that threatened to fall. Spike took a step closer. "Stay back. Stay the hell away from me!" Her finger fled to the trigger. She had been backed into a corner.  
  
Spike narrowly avoided being shot in the face as the bullet grazed his cheek as he knocked the firearm away from her and gripped her by the shoulders. She struggled in his grip but he refused to let go. He couldn't let go. Just by leaving he had changed her, just by fading away.  
  
"Faye! Calm down damn it."  
  
He is dead, her mind shrieked. This cannot be him!  
  
This man. he couldn't be Spike. He can't be. All this time, all the pain she had gone through, all the suffering, the heartache, the guilt. She had tried to get there in time, she had tried. And when she got there and not found him, she felt as if she had failed. She felt that if she had been there, if she could have spoken to him, that she could have stopped him. It was guilt, a horrible burden. She had searched for hours, knowing that she was going to find nothing, but not able to just give up. When she had returned to the Bebop she had felt such guilt.  
  
This could not be him! If it was, he deserved to be hurt! He deserved to feel all the pain that she had to feel! All the torture that her mind had bestowed upon her. She had dreams. She had such horrible dreams, all because of him. If this was him, he deserved to feel pain!  
  
She struggled now, more determined than before, but his grip was like steel and she felt herself getting weak. She tried freeing her arms, she tried kicking, nothing she did worked. She felt like crying, sobbing and bawling and releasing everything that was pent up inside... She could do nothing. Absolutely nothing. She leaned forward, so close their bodies were almost touching, and swiped her leg out, hooking his and yanking. If he fell he was bound to let her go to steady himself. As she planned he lost his balance, but he fell forward and brought her down too.  
  
She thudded to the ground, reopening her wound, and grimacing as she felt the stitches rip. Spike kept his firm hold and fell forward, landing on top of her, still pinning her arms. Her towel was in disarray, no longer covering her fully and revealed more that she wanted to be. It still covered her but it was simply draped across her now, not tied. It didn't seem to faze him though. He kept his face cool and controlled and stared into her eyes, no where else. It didn't matter though. She glared at him.  
  
"Let me go."  
  
"Promise me you'll be rational."  
  
"I said let me go!" She tried twisting out from beneath him but realizing she was making the towel situation worse.  
  
"Promise."  
  
"I'm bleeding."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Damn it! What do you want?" she hissed angrily.  
  
"Are you going to promise?"  
  
She looked at him, staring him in the eye. His eyes seemed to leave such a big impact. One darker than the other, one real, one fake. It was as if you could just keep staring. And stare she did, she stared straight into his eyes a look of defiance painted across her face. He was warm, she noticed. She, clad barely in a towel, was freezing her butt off and the warmth that flowed from him felt so good. She wanted to hug him, and squeeze that warmth from him. She wanted to tell him she was glad he was ok. But she couldn't. She couldn't take such a bold step into cloudy waters, which was exactly what Spike was. Cloudy waters.  
  
The room was deadly silent as he looked down on her. He had to try to maintain his composure. He had to try hard too. Even he, who though couldn't control his feelings but could keep them masked, had trouble retaining himself. He was lying on top of a basically naked Faye. What man wouldn't be tempted, besides a gay one, of course. And her eyes. He could see the pain in them, he could see the anger. But he failed to locate the hatred. So, she didn't hate him. But what did she feel? He was tempted to find out, tempted to kiss her and see how she responded. Actions speak louder than words, you know. But he couldn't do that. He couldn't just go out into such cloudy waters. That's what Faye was too, cloudy water.  
  
Snapping out of the trance Spike's eyes held on her she nodded. As long as he was getting off she was ok. He threatened all of her self-restraint as it was, and him being on top of her helped her none. He looked at her once more before loosening his grip and sliding off, and as he did, she felt herself not wanting him to. There goes her warmth...  
  
He stood and leaned against the wall as he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag, the smoldering end illuminating his face in the dimly lit room. Faye stood a bit slower, afraid of causing more pain by jostling her stitches. She quickly wrapped her towel around herself and left the room, not able to look at him.  
  
"Where are you going?" She heard Spike's voice echo behind her as he stared at her retreating figure.  
  
"To get dressed, wanna come?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She sauntered into her room and slammed the door. Spike situated himself on the couch. This could take a while.  
  
Faye sat on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She wondered how to describe the feelings that she had. Sure, she could name a lot of emotions that described her-hate, love, anger, confusion. Yes, those were all emotions she had, but what did you call it when all those emotions were one? Would you simply call it confusion, as her feelings were so vast it did indeed confuse her. Or would it be classified as an emotion with a name of its own? As an emotion that was all of those feelings in one?  
  
She wondered this as she sat on her bed, clad in blue boxers and a white wife-beater shirt. She had re-wrapped her side with some bandages under her bed, and had thrown the first shirt on that was big enough to hide the small bulge. She would sew it back together later, when Spike left, and if she played her cards right it shouldn't take very much to make him leave. All she had to do was act like. well, Faye. The old Faye, not the new emotional yet unemotional Faye with the blurred feelings and the no feelings, not the confusing Faye. But both were confusing, weren't they? Who was she anyway? She smiled. She was just another shadow.  
  
Faye left her room and walked down the hall back to where Spike was sitting. He sat in her armchair, a brownish-red, old chair with cushions soft from use. He sat in the chair with his legs propped up on her table and his head leaned back, supposedly asleep, and the cigarette in his mouth still burning, even though it was hardly there. Faye seated herself on the sofa across from him, and grabbed the blanket on the back of her couch to throw across her shoulders. The house was cold and not only did the blanket provide heat, it also provided a veil, just incase her blood leaked through the bandages. She sat there wondering what she was going to do, when he lifted his head and looked at her. His eyes raked across her face and then lowered as he looked across her uncovered legs.  
  
"What are you looking at?" Faye asked as she drew her legs up to herself. Had Spike become a pervert or something? She was used to guys looking at her, just not him. Just not Spike.  
  
"Scars," he said shifting himself on the sofa into what was, she was sure, a more comfortable position.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You have scars now. How did you get them?"  
  
Faye paused and looked at him. Then she looked down at her legs. She did have scars, not that many, but she did have them. She hadn't had scars before, she had been careful, and if she did have a wound that she knew would scar, she would do everything she could to make sure that it didn't happen. She hadn't cared lately though. She didn't have many, just two noticeable ones, one going across her knee and one across her ankle on her left leg. The others were really all that visible. Not really a big deal.  
  
"Did you come here to waste my time about how I got scars? Or did you come to waste my time about something more important?"  
  
He sighed. Might as well let it all out. There was no use in stalling was there? Not with a woman who would shoot him in a heartbeat.  
  
"I left because I thought you would be better off without me. That was another life that ended when I fought Vicious. That was what that life was for. So I died. Get it?"  
  
Faye stared at him. "You came to waste my time to tell me that? Like hell if I care why you left, why you died. Not only that but your excuse sucks too. You left because your fight was over? So what were we? You're stupid little pawns to help you get to Vicious?"  
  
Spike sighed. She was twisting his words. "It's not like that."  
  
"And what about Jet? He thought of you as a friend, a best friend even. He was like a walking ghost thinking that he had let a good friend die. You not only screwed up your life but you screwed his as well," she said. "You just didn't want any responsibility so you fled. You're a fucking coward."  
  
He looked at her. He wanted to argue, but in a way she was right. He had run from responsibility, he didn't want it. He didn't want to be involved with others. It was just too easy on his own. Besides, now wasn't the time to mess with Faye. Not when she was emotional and had a gun at her feet. He wasn't going to agree, but he wasn't going to disagree. But he couldn't resist the urge to mess with her.  
  
"And what about you? Did I mess up your life as well? Did you think that you let 'a good friend die?"  
  
Faye smiled then, and it was odd in a way. It was almost even haunting. He looked at her for real now. She had changed. Defiantly. "You want to know what I thought? I thought I had let another idiot run off to his death, and you know, I kind of felt bad for it. I felt bad for Jet, who actually cared about you, because I felt that I let his friend die. So I guess you could say I felt guilty."  
  
She smiled at him again, a haunting smile with no life. Her hair covered her eyes and though she looked at him, he couldn't see her eyes. So he just looked at her, for once at a loss of words. And for once he felt guilty too. So, he returned her dead smile with his cool uncaring one, as it helped him regain composure. What could he say to that without sounding heartless, but without sounding like he cared? He felt as if he hadn't been telling the truth this whole time and she had. And he couldn't take much more of this.  
  
"Tell Jet I said hi, then," he said standing and pulling out another cigarette. "I might as well be dead again." And he headed toward the door, without looking back. This was his past. He convinced himself. They were his past. It wasn't his fault if they cared, he never told them to, he had never asked. And Faye obviously wanted him dead again. Jet? He couldn't face Jet. Not now, not ever. He had actually developed feelings for the guy, had actually considered him a friend. If he went back now he would screw everything up and over. Again. He had made the mistake of caring enough to see Faye, why make it again when he could just vanish and be dead? Why mess their lives up again? What was the point when it would be easier, so much easier, to disappear? His hand was on the door handle when he turned around to look at her, sitting on the sofa looking so lost, so cold. "Bye, Faye." And he turned and left, the door closing with a resounding click as it shut.  
  
She stared at the door long after he left. Why did she feel as if she had done something wrong? As if she was the one who had wronged the other? Why did she feel as if he should have stayed? How did he do it? How did he manage to mess her up so bad? How had he made her love him all over again?  
  
"Damn you," she whispered before crying out louder. "Damn you Spike Spiegel!"  
  
And as her voice reached his ears he finally decided. "I'll watch her, but jut for a little longer. Can't have her screwing her life up too bad," he muttered to himself as he left from in front of her door, lighting a cigarette and placing it between his lips before he took a deep puff.  
  
These were the real folk blues.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Ach. This chappie wasn't as good as I wanted, but hey, I don't choose what I want. It just, happens. *readers look skeptical* No, seriously. *they look even MORE skeptical* Alright, alright! I got lazy. Anywho, hope it was good enough! R&R? 


	3. A Fall Faint

Myruu! Howdy everyone. Sorry this took longer than expected, but thanks to listening repetitively to Fukai Mori, My Will, Every Heart, and all the other IY songs, I was able to finish it. I know, I Know, IY with Cowboy Bebop?!?! Oh, well. If a cute guy in a pink(sorry, RED) kimono appears with fuzzy woof-woof ears, just let me know, I'll edit it out. The first bit is just Faye's wack-wack thoughts, but bear with me pple! *looks around madly* It's writers block!

Oh, yesh. 

InoownBoycoyBopbe.NosueGatgo.Gatgogotnomoney. 

~*~*~

Faye sighed as she pushed the buttons on the machine. She had caught a nice bounty last night and had just turned him in. The machine beeped as it finished depositing the correct amount of Woolongs on her card. She placed her card in her bra, having no where else to put it at the moment. Puling on one of her suspenders, she bitterly muttered something about the damn suit not having pockets. 

Cigarette in mouth and hands folded behind her head, she drifted down the streets. She had just been drifting around since she had seen him. Since Spike had shown up at her door. She had been drifting, more dead than she was before, for a week and a half now. She had caught one bounty, but that was all. She had accomplished nothing else since then. She had basically just sat around the house, sleeping, eating, and watching TV. I sound like Spike, she thought to herself before cursing silently. She could hardly go a minute without thinking of him. He was on her mind a lot, partially because of the nightmares she had about him, partially because she had loved him. 

Correction, still loved him. 

Why did every thing have to hurt so much? Why couldn't the rest of the world just piss off? A drop of rain, a tear from the heavens, rolled down the tip of her nose and soon lost half of what it started out as, now it was merely a wet trace down her nose. Poor raindrop. It didn't have enough initiative to reach the ground. It couldn't form its own puddle.

Her finger reached up to wipe the wet off. Her head turned skywards as she watched the clouds drift, moving across the sky in dark gray masses, forming rain. The heavens cry with me, she thought melodramatically and continued her walk. She was going to get soaked if she kept walking in the pace she was, but part of her wanted to be submerged in the wetness, maybe it would wash away the grime that it felt like was covering her.

Her hand pulled out the card with her newly added money. Half of her screamed 'casinos', 'lotteries', 'races', 'go blow it somewhere', 'bet away your grief'. The other half told her to go buy food. She had been eating stale tortillas, beer, and cup noodles for the last month now. She wanted some real food. Something that wasn't stale, something that didn't taste stale even if it was fresh, and something besides beer.

The rain came down harder now, sinking into her skin and leaving behind a cold chill. She had never been warm, the coldness for her was nothing. Hands behind her head she walked on, the card back in its hiding place, the sadness forgotten, if only for a second, as she stared up at the clouds and watched them drift slowly along, wanting the raindrops they produced to form their own puddles.

She had convinced herself it was nothing more than a desperate dream. He hadn't really been there, it was all an illusion. An illusion from a bit too much scotch and anything else she drank. He had felt so real, alcohol messes up your brain, you know. His scent still lingered in her room, the smell of cigarette smoke of spices hung on her couch. That was created by desperate needs, she had decided. Yet she had slept on that sofa until his scent wore away, she had drunken herself into a drunken delusional stupor, day after day, in the hopes of seeing him again. It had taken a week to convince herself it was a dream, but she wished for reality. 

When she arrived at the store she was naught but a soggy mess. Her mascara had run, most of it had been washed off but she still had two light black lines running down her face. Her tangled purple hair around her pail face. It hung to her shoulders now, and she hadn't bothered to cut it short. Her headband was tucked away, not likely ever to be pulled out again. The rest of her just dripped on the floor as she strolled through the isles and pulled things off of the shelves. If it was cheap and good-looking and easy to make, it was thrown into the little shopping basket.

At the register she leaned a bit too hard on the counter, flustered her face a bit, and licked her lips. The young male cashier, staring so intently at her, forgot to ring up some items, merely threw them into the plastic bag. This day was looking up on her. Smiling at him, she gave him her card, he had cut off a good percent of what she had to pay. Blowing a kiss over her shoulder she strode out of the store, back into the rain. Her plastic grocery bag tied shut, her head turned down a bit to keep the pouring rain from her eyes. How safe was the rain on Callisto? Would it have some affect on her skin?

She blew a straggling piece of hair from her face. Who did she have to look good for anyway? Not that she was implying that she had tried to look good for Spike, she looked good anyway. Not these days though, she thought bitterly. Look at you Faye, broken up by a guy who never looked twice in your direction. Broken up by a guy who never gave you one good compliment. Broken up by a guy that didn't give a shit about anyone else. But he sure was sexy. 

No, bad mind. 

She allowed herself a light smile.

"Still tricking the cashier the old ways huh?" a familiar lazy, way too casual voice asked.

Her head was on its way to fling around in a circle.

It's not real!

Don't hurt yourself, don't look!

She stopped mid-turn, adjusted the bag on her hip, and kept walking. She wouldn't fall for it. She would just act like that was really him, she wouldn't look. That way, even if he was fake, she wouldn't see it, she would be able to think—

But why do you want to believe he's alive? It's only hurting you. 

Hey, I love the pain.

Her sad smile was on her face as she trudged home in silence, riding in melancholy bliss.

~*~*~

"Hey, Jet," she said to her com. He had paged her soon after she got back to her apartment. She gave him a warm smile, a smile just for a friend, as he had become a good one after Spike died. Only a friend, mind you. He was twelve years older than she was. That give you a hint anywhere? Friends.

"Hey, Faye."(- It rhymes! Sorry, ruining the MoOd)

Silence.

"Soooo," she drawled. "Did you call just to say 'hey', or you got something else?"

Jet smiled as he seemed to remember something. "Yeah I—"

A loud crash erupted in his background followed by an inhuman yell. A series of more crashes occurred, followed by a series more of incoherent ramblings that sounded strangely masculine—

"Be right back Faye, gotta check something," he said. Yet he said it so fast it sounded more like 

'BareighbackFaygottacheeksomein.' Then the com was shut off and a blank screen appeared.

Faye shrugged as she tossed the com over her shoulder and grabbed a can of beer and some instant noodles. She was half way done eating them when she realized that she had gone to the store to buy something different. Hastily jumping to her feet she flung open her kitchen cabinet doors to find that the only thing she had bought was noodles, bread, some dairy products, and instant cookie mix. Oh, and beer and tortillas. Great. She would be eating the same thing for another month. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Damn spike. Constantly haunting her.

She was more than halfway to insanity when her com rang again. She practically flung herself on it and jammed at the buttons. She needed to talk to someone. Being alone was making her think way too much. 

"Jet," she greeted, her voice not letting him in on any of her insanity.

"Yeah. I was wondering if you wanted to come over to the Bebop, Ed's here and she wants to see you."

"Ed? You found Ed?" she asked, trying to hide the excitement in her voice. Sure, the kid was crazy, hyperactive, and annoying, but Faye found that she had come to like the little pain in the ass.

Jet nodded. "She said something about needing to find 'her place in the world'. Kid gets crazier and crazier."

Faye smiled weakly. Hell, when she told the kid about finding a place in the world, she hadn't expected her to listen. "Yeah."

"Can you come? You're not busy are you? Cause if you are—"

"Pu-leezh come Faye-Faye!!!" cried a shrill voice. Soon hands wrapped around Jet's balding head and a mop of tangled orange obscured the view, then a face made its way into being. "Hi-hi Faye-Faye! Come to see Edward? Pu-leezh?"

Faye smiled. "Sure, kid."

"Great, see you here. We're at the harbor, shouldn't be hard to spot the Bebop. Hey— Ed, watch it!!" Another loud crash was heard before the screen went blank.

Faye stared at it awhile before she started to laugh. It'd been a long while since she had laughed. It felt good. She left the house in dry clothes, a pair of jeans and a casual tank top and blue-jean jacket. She brushed her hair until it shone and re-applied her makeup. She had people to look nice for again.

For once in a long while she was happy.

It had taken a while for her to get her Redtail out of the garage she had it kept in. It had taken a while because her Redtail wasn't supposed to be in there, but where else would she keep the thing for free? Now she was airborne, flying over the city and towards the harbor. Callisto was an ugly city if you were ground level, walking in it's crowded dirty midts, smelling its rank smells, breathing its toxic air. But from up in the sky, there seemed to be color, it seemed livly and, actually, beautiful. It was like an old painting, a bit musky but, overall, a piece of work that's actually wonderful.

She silently snorted to herself. Callisto could never be anything other than hideous. 

The water from the harbor jumped up and danced as she lowered her Redtail and skimmed its tops. She could feel the licks of the water splashing against the sides of her ship, as she looked over all of the ships and boats in search of the Bebop. How hard could it be to find a broken down grey ship? She almost cried out when she finally spotted it. The once husky and chipped gray ship was looking actually decent. It had a new paint job, still the same color gray, but it shone in the light unlike the old Bebop, who even when in the sun, looked much like death itself. The words 'Bebop' were still written sloppily across the side though, red spray paint and a shaky hand. 

Faye grinned. The old man must have a lot of time on his hands, it would be good for him to talk to someone other than Ed. It would be good for her to talk to him too. It would keep her mind off of Spike, who seemed to haunt her thoughts more than often as of late. Ever since that night. She shuddered as she convinced herself it was only a dream once more. It couldn't have been real, Spike was dead. Dead, dead, dead. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. No the time for her psychotic thoughts. Jet, Ed, Jet, Ed. Time for them now. Not the other guy.

Spike, Spike, Spike.

Arrgh! Damn mind! Always thinking what it wants, she hissed under her breath. A heavy grunt escaped her as she half crash landed on the Bebop. She hadn't been paying attention and her ship had dropped from too high up and knocked the wind out of her. She blew a stray strand of unbound hair from her eyes before grouchily sliding out of her vessel. The new deck painting was now scratched in several places, as the gray was paint now on the Redtail from where it scratched the deck.

"Oh well," she muttered. "It's like old times now, anyway."

No sooner had she entered the ship and began walking down the hall, she realized her left leg felt a bit heavy…

"Ed," she greeted, and patted her new red-haired growth on the head.

The girl beamed with happiness before dropping off, running around her in circles, once, twice, thrice, then commenced running down the hall screaming at the top of her lungs, "Faye-Faye's here! Faye-Faye's here!!", and then she made a rhyme, "Faye-Faye Faye-Faye Bo-Bafe Banana-nana Fo-Fafe, Fe-Fi Fo Fafe, it's Faye-Faye! Wheee!!" Then she disappeared, probably into a vent somewhere.

"So much for wanting to see me," she muttered before walking into the make-shift living room and plopping down on the vinal sofa, waiting for Jet to make his appearance. 

She began to flip through the channels on the TV Ed 'improved' and found that it did have more channels, but most only got static and the ones that came in clear were shows that would put you to sleep in three minutes flat. At around channel four-hundred and fifty-seven, she was bored sick. In the humid air, her skin began to stick to the sofa and she soon found herself going crazy waiting for Jet to come out. Hadn't he heard Ed? How could he Not have heard Ed?

Grumbling she stood and began walking up the steps yelling, "Jet! Jet! Get your ass out here!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," came the familiar voice of Jet from down the hall as Faye took on the second step.

"Keep your panties on woman," was the second voice that didn't sound like Jet OR Ed, and had a surprisingly lazy, laid back tone to it. It sounded like the voice of a former Bebopper with fuzzy green hair, mismatched eyes, a lanky figure, and a really nice ass.

Faye stopped a step or two at the top of the stairs. Was that?

And out of the shadows—

"Yo."

—he stepped, with a crooked smile and lazy eyes.

Faye was a deer caught in headlights, staring at nothing, but something at the same time. And he just stared back. It was like being in denial for the umpteenth time, and she didn't know what to do- what could she do- so she stood there, feeling light-headed, but not really dizzy. And then she moved forward, reached a hand out and poked him. He didn't dissolve or dissapear, but he jumped at her, as if he was delighted by her confusion, and she jumped back in response. What was she going to do? How did women in the old days get out of situations like this?

Aha! They fainted, but how was she going to—

Feeling a presence near her, her eyes immediately went back into focus, only to find Spike's face right in front of hers, as he grinned at her predicament.

"Boo."

And she found out how to faint, as all of her troubles, worries, angers, wonders, and any and every other emotion pilled on top of another until she felt so weighted down she could hardly stand. Then, the world was turned as her eyes lost focus, as her breath shallowed and she fell backwards, her left shoulder connecting hard against the metal top step, and her head hitting something hard and cold, as she fell backwards down the steps. She felt warmth tickling down her neck, before she blacked out, doing something she never had done before.

She had fainted.

~*~*~

Ach. Left you on a cliffie! MUAHA! HAHA! I know, I know. Faye DOESN'T faint, but, oh well! 2 late now!! I luff the ultimate confusion that Faye leaves. She so versatile. ^_______^ Me likes working with her. Spikey's kinda versatile too. ^_______________^ And he's sexy! Well, Faye's cute to you guys out there, but me being a girl and all. Yesh, you get it.

Well the next chappie should be up soon. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully. Depends. R&R's always welcome! As well as constructive Crits! 

Ta, ta 4 now!


	4. Time Travel

Myruu! Next chappie! Sorry the last chapter was of such poor content, I couldn't get depressed enough so I kinda struck a writers block. I'll probably go back and revise that chapter in the distant future. But this one should be much better. At least I think so, and my Hedgehog agrees so there! I actually hadn't expected to write this chapter so quickly, only two days! Wow! But that's what those few minutes before you fall asleep are for. ^___^

Anywho, this one has Spike in it too, and the next chapter has Mucho Spike in it, well I plan on it, and if it goes the way I plan, it should be grr-ate!

Happy readings, and thankies so much for those of you that reviewed! I really appreciate it!

~*~*~

BoyCow BopBe

Chapter 4: Time Travel

And life goes on.

Not a pleasant thought if you think too much about it. Life always lead to complications, troubles that one couldn't help but collide with, troubles that you couldn't escape from. Sure, with life there are those precious moments when you feel that your heart might melt because you're so ecstatic, but happiness lasts only for small fragments of time, while anger, sadness, and hatred can last throughout the years. It was so much easier to hate than it is to love, those you hate can never truly hurt you, while those you love can easily do so. 

__

So why do humans love?

And the answer started to form in her brain, and she started to calculate the answer, and it was all coming to her…

But why was she thinking all this in the first place? 

It was as if she couldn't turn off her mind, as if she had to keep thinking or she would be empty. She could act and appear normal and unaffected now, but inside she was ripped to shreds and her feelings were so out of wack she could hardly breath and she didn't know when the next mood swing was coming. She felt like a little girl who just started her period, hormones all crazy, and obliged to be confused, angry, sad, and overall a moody little bitch. 

__

But what could you do about that?

Ever since that day, a week ago, when she had shown up at the Bebop, life had been to hell and back, and then to hell again. She couldn't get over the fact that she had fainted. When she saw Spike she had flipped, acting like a frightened child, curious but scared shitless. And when he had jumped at her, she had probably launched herself fifty feet away. When she woke up her shoulder was bruised and sore, and had a headache that could melt ice, not to mention a good-sized lump too. She had forgotten that she had fainted and was wondering what happened when Spike decided to speak.

"You're finally awake? It's been four hours."

She grabbed her covers and pulled them over her nose, then turned toward where the voice was coming from. She was in her old room, she realized, and he was sitting in a chair not far from her, close enough that he could reach out and touch her. She hadn't even felt him sitting there, she hadn't sensed him with the nerve that every human has, yet is not sure what to call it. And there he was sitting, in the dim room, his face only made visible by the cigarette he chose now to light. And her mind was still screaming '_he's dead!_' even though she now knew he wasn't. She couldn't hide from it anymore, yet the covers pulled up so high only her eyes were showing, were still a sense of reassurance that she _could_ hide, even if it was a false one. It hid her from the realization that nothing could hide her from Spike if he decided to come and get her. 

And then he spoke again.

"Look, Jet told me this was hard on you, even if I don't know why. So he told me to tell you what I did after I left." And she continued to stare at him, so he continued his story, even though he was aware that the 'after I left' he was about to tell her was not the one to which Jet was referring. 

"First I got something to eat," he said to try and lighten the mood. It didn't work. So he continued more seriously. "Then I decided that if I was going to drop in and see you, I might as well see Jet too, even if I didn't want to. The old man took it better than I thought, he didn't pull a gun on me like someone I know." 

And he waited a bit to see if she would add some sarcastic bitchy comment. And she didn't, she just stared at him. So he continued again. "Then I decided that I wanted my old life back, even if that involved a bitchy shrew and a psycho kid and a dog." And she _still_ didn't say anything. So he continued, his mood soured a good bit. 

"So we picked up Ed off of Earth somewhere, and came back to get you. Since Jet knew you wouldn't come here if he told you _I_ was here, he told you Ed was here instead. Then you showed up, saw me and fainted." 

She still stared.

"And that's the fucking end," he finished bitterly, his mood somehow darkened by her lack of response, even though he used to wish she would just shut up. So why this attitude now? And he stood up and left, slamming the metal door behind himself.

She had continued to stare.

And as she thought back, she covered her face with her hands and wished she could go back to change it, wished she could go back and give another reaction. It was a mistake that she wished could be erased, that stupid thing you do and as you think back you realize how utterly stupid it was in the first place and you wish you could go back, if only for that instant, and change that something. You tell yourself over and over that if you could go back to change that one thing that you wouldn't feel the way you do now. You plead with unknown forces and then convince yourself you were only thinking to yourself, yet you pray at night and tell yourself you were only joking, then you try praying again with the slight hope that if you're serious the gods would take you seriously and grant your wish.

Then you realize how pointless your thoughts are, you realize you can't go back in time, and see how you were wasting time, energy, and most importantly, the remainder of your sanity.

And she realized she was having conversations with herself to try to make herself feel better.

"Am I pathetic?" she asked the ceiling, as she lay on her old bed in her old room in the Bebop. "Why am I still here, anyway?" Then she answered her own question. Because food was free here, even if her instant noodles tasted better than the crap Jet served, because she could talk to someone if she felt like it, which she rarely did, and because by being here she felt she could regain sanity. That if she stayed near Spike things could be the way they used to be.

"And they won't," she answered herself again. And as she stared at the ceiling, doing nothing and wearing the same shorts and shirt that she had been wearing the last four days, she realized the ways she was living really was pathetic. She was living off of false comforts.

__

So what was she going to do about it?

Nothing. Things will work out, she convinced herself, and realized she had been doing a lot of self-reassuring lately. 

Pathetic.

"I need a shower."

~*~*~

__

Bang, bang!

"Get the hell out of there, Spike!" Her rosy white fist pounded on the metal bathroom door so hard there might be a bruise. 

"In a minute!" he yelled back. That had been his response for the last thirty-five minutes forty two seconds… and counting.

"Damn it! I need a shower!"

"Then why do you go back to your place and take one?" he barked back.

She felt crushed. Near him she didn't know what she would be feeling next. Near him she had mood swings. Near him she wasn't _stable_. So she figured she get away from him for a little while, the maybe she would come back. 

Maybe.

She walked away depressed again, not exactly knowing why, but knowing that she was. It was better to just get away from the cause of emotional conflict. Step away from the Spike, she heard her mental police shouting.

The bathroom door slid open and Spike looked out. That woman had been so moody lately. She had acted more like a real woman, which in his opinion was basically moody and constantly Bs'ing, and he found himself actually caring if something was wrong with her. But what could be wrong? She had been here for a week, couldn't she just get over whatever was bogging her down?

He began to wonder what was making her so moody. It couldn't be him; they had already had a talk about that. Just the two of them. They talked not long after she woke up from her fainting adventure, and it was a good long conversation of five solid minutes. He had explained what he had done after he left her apartment, leaving out the things that would sound like he actually cared about her, and she had sat there and stared at him. Then he left. It was kind of a one sided conversation since she hadn't said anything, but it was still a conversation.

Why didn't she just get over it?

"Women are so damn emotional," he muttered sourly before calling out, "Hey, Faye! I'm out!"

And she had turned to look at him, and he felt his heart in his throat. She had an intense stare, deep green eyes that could cut through your soul, and she leaned against the wall and sighed.

"I'll take a shower at my apartment, the hot water's probably gone anyway. Don't expect me back, I'm going to hit a casino." Faye couldn't look at him. She might either break down and cry, or do something irrational. And the thought '_Spike looks good in only a towel'_ kept popping into her head. This, the thousands of thoughts racing through her mind, emotional distress, and food and sleep deprivation, had her unstable at the moment. Going to a casino and playing her thoughts away would be nice. She still had money from that last bounty head, and besides, she wanted some noodles, tortillas, and beer.

"Are you sure that's smart? Why blow all your money?" he asked as he leaned against the wall just outside the bathroom door, garbed in a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and beads of dripping water.

Certain that she needed to leave; she stood up straight and turned to do so. "Why ask if you don't care? Besides, it's _my_ money."

This time he heard the pain in her voice, and it echoed and reverberated through his ears. The realization that he had been denying finally struck him full force. She _had_ been sulking because of him. And he actually felt guilty. He tried to shake the feeling, convince himself that he didn't feel guilt towards anyone or anything, but he couldn't. 

"I wouldn't," he said firmly, answering her question, and turning to get his cigarettes from his jacket that was still lying on the floor in the bathroom.

She froze in the hallway as his words registered.

__

No, he doesn't care. He's just a lying bastard like always.

She struggled with more cases of self-reassurance as she kept her back turned on him and continued to walk. She couldn't turn back and risk the chance of facing what she wasn't near ready for. 

And he leaned against the doorway and watched her walk away, yearning for her to turn back and tell him it wasn't he who messing up her life. He had constantly told himself he had no affect on others lives, the fact that he might actually be was messing him up. So he tried to reassure himself that he wasn't. That was when he realized he had been doing a lot of self-reassurance lately.

"Damn that woman messes me up," he grumbled before grabbing his clothes and heading off towards his room to get dressed. That woman was going to need supervision.

He couldn't have her messing her life up too bad.
    
    At least, not because of him.

~*~*~

There ya go! Hope you liked it. Much better than last chappie huh? I can't wait to do them at the casino! You know there's gonna be LOTS of fun there! So many ideas. I think I'll make Spike and Faye ***censored*** and ***censored*** and then ***some more censored***, it's gonna be grr-ate(I like saying it that way). I thought I really hit the mark about some of those feelings. Haven't you guys ever wished you could go back in time so you do the secret praying and stuff? Well, I've done it. And I realize I'm kinda stupid for doing so, but hey, they say anything's possible! ;^___^ Excuses, excuses.

So see you next time on the next episode of,

The Real Folk Blues! *Ending song starts to play* 

I think I will put that song in one of my next chappies. I have no clue how long this thing is going to be.


	5. Casino night

Meh. And about Viscous? I'm trying to get him worked in here. I really am. But it doesn't seem to be working. I might have to change the summary. *sigh* Why, why, why??? I guess I'll make a story just for Viscous. ^__^ called 'Bloody Roses' 0__0 sounds cool, no?

I gave em a little in this chappie, but the next chappie'll rock your sox! Should I block out the graphic stuff, or should I leave all that in? Please tell me.

I hope for lotz o reviews! 

~*~*~ 

Redtail took off from the Bebop, leaving a silence in its wake. It left the eerie feeling of no return. As if she was going to take off and never come back. And as he stared up at her ship as if took off, he finally realized what they must have felt. His heart wrenched, but he stilled it. Where was she going now? Was she really going to a casino? Or was that just an excuse to get away?

What was wrong with that woman anyway? She was acting like his return was just like living in hell, and from what he heard from Jet, she had been no better when she still thought he was dead.

"It's the shock of it all," Jet had told her. "She's had a hard time. She had tried to get a real job after you died- er- left. Never found it, though. It'll take her a few months to get used to the idea of you being alive."

He had snorted. "Faye? With a _job_? Don't make me laugh. And a few _months_? What the hell is wrong with her? It's just me." And the look he had received from Jet was enough to make even his skin crawl. Hell, it was enough to melt ice.

He grunted again. If he was in her position, he wouldn't be being such an emotional mess. Why couldn't women control themselves? They were so complex. Being stinky one moment, being an emotional housewife the next. Why couldn't they just pick one, like men? Men were simple. Well, simpler.

~*~*~

She had told herself that she shouldn't have gone. She saw them outside the door, men garbed in expensive black pen-striped suits with matching hats. She saw the reaching in their pockets, she saw more of them drive up in fancy cars, and more when she entered the casino. She had told herself something big was going to happen, but only half of her believed it, and none of her was alive enough to be afraid. Hell, she wanted to die anyway, if they were going to blow the place up, fine with her, as long as she died quick.

She had entered, seating herself at the closest and most crowded table. A round of poker it was. Her hands had moved like water, her cheats and lies slid without detection, soon she had a mound collecting. A man at the table began to look at her funny and her cheats died out a bit. A good stash of chips had accumulated in her pile. 

__

Time to call it quits.

She should have known the man followed her…

Her chips were in a bag as she placed the on the counter and exchange half of them for money and the other half for gambling. She set off to find another poker table. The money was in a safe place, no one would ever get to it where she stashed it. A crooked smile formed. What would Spike have to say about it? That she was a twisted chick? Yeah, most likely. Her heart lightened and sunk at the same time. How could she feel so vice versa about him? It made no sense. She sighed. All this gambling was doing a thing on her bladder…

__

I knew I should have peed before I left.

And she stubbornly headed toward the bathroom, chelling to see if her gun was loaded. There were all sorts of people just waiting around the bathroom, and sometimes the guard wasn't there.

She should have felt the breath on the back of her neck…

Stepping in she knew that there was no possible way that she could use the bathroom. The sink was rimmed with dirt, mold growing in dark corners, dust and grime in the cracks in the floor, smelly tampons and pads overflowing in the most likely never-been-emptied trashcans. The smell was horrendous. The casino itself was a nice place, the best machines, crisp clean carpets and dollar bills… yet it all seemed to mean nothing in these bathrooms. The smell of smoke floated from a bathroom stall, and it didn't smell like cigarette smoke.

__

I'll cash these chips and go home.

She stepped out of the bathroom and ran into a man. His arms went around her, but she already had her gun out. She pulled the trigger before she even thought about it. The man in the suit crumpled at her feet, a bullet between his eyes.

The casino erupted with gunshots. And she fled for her life…

Ramming more bullets into her gun, she pressed herself into the corner. Her heart was racing and blood dribbled down her leg. With moves as fast as lightning, she swung around the corner, firing once, twice, three times, hitting two men, and went back into hiding. Her should bumped into the white wall, leaving a trail of blood and pain. She went to fire again, shooting three more men, but she was also spotted. She swerved out of the way as a bullet speed toward her, piercing the air with a silent scream, and stilling the room and noise as she moved at impossible speeds, her body reacting on its own accord. Like water, like fluid motion…

She ran down the hall, every now and then turning to fire off a shot and knock down a man or two. She wondered to where she was running. The casino halls could lead anywhere, and she didn't know the way out. If only she could get _out_… Her gun fired as her high heel snapped, the weigh of her body running in full speed breaking its threads, and she thudded to the floor, landing on her hurt shoulder. She suppressed a cry of pain and instead a smile formed on her lips. There was that pain, that _warmth_. But it lasted only for a short while as she shook off the feeling and pushed herself up. 

A shadow cast itself over her body.

She instantly lashed out with her still-heeled boot, connecting with flesh and bone. She felt something pop. The man crumpled, groaning as he tumbled forward, his ankle popped. His heavy body fell near her. He soon shook off the shock and reached out, his fingers gripping her arm. She aimed her gun and blew a hole between his eyes. His blood splattered across her clothes and face. Soon she was out of her heels, and running barefoot down the hall, still hearing the shots of gunfire behind. They were still after her.

She licked the dribble of blood off her lip.

And she rounded another corner, smiling in delight when she saw the glaring neon sign with 'Exit" scrawled across it. Her hand reached for the handle, the door was being pushed open, when she felt them strike her. Her body jerked forward.

The pain coursed through her body, one coming out of her side the other coming out through her thigh, and two more grazing her. And while she thrived for pain, this was different, this was the pain one felt from being alive. She had finally woken up, she had finally come back to life. 

__

Too bad I'm gonna die.

Her body fell through the doorway, half in half out, being squeezed between the doorframe and the heavy iron door. But she found that she couldn't move, her will was pushing her, her mind was screaming.

__

You're alive again! Don't die, don't die!

And her hand lifted and she tried to drag herself. She heard the sound of a gun cocking and then the sound of a man talking.

"She killed a lot of our men, let her die slow."

And then she felt the sharp twitch of pain as a boot connected with her side, and the toe ground in the exact spot where the bullet exited. She cried out in pain, a first in a long time. 

She blacked out from pain and blood loss… right before gunshots ran out in the night.

__

I tried to erase the pain, but pain is a part of living, so I was only killing myself. But now that the pain is on the outside and its not my soul, my soul can come to life again, so I'm not dead anymore.

It made such perfect sense.

~*~*~

He had gotten to the casino late, thanks to Jets rambling. He had spotted Faye and watched her go to the bathroom, and come out soon with a look of disgust on her face. He saw her run into the man and kill him without a second thought. He tried to get to her but the casino erupted with gun fire, and he was forced to retreat. He saw her run to the hallway with a few men trying to avenge their comrade on her tail, and he saw more come after her as she dropped the first few with a few shots, and how she was shot in the shoulder as well. He had struggled to get to her, dodging bullets and throwing them back, worming his way after her. 

And then he heard her scream…

He saw her, and the two men tormenting her. Rage. It burned in him and he shot the men numerous times, through the neck, heart, stomach. And even when he knew they were dead, he continued to waste his bullets on their bleeding carcasses. Then he rushed to her side, wings beneath his feet. She was shot in the shoulder, in the side, in the leg, and she had bullet grazes on her arms and her legs. Her blood was puddling beneath her, painting her pale skin rosy. She had to wake up, if she stayed asleep like this, she would surely die. She had to regain consciousness. 

He tried shaking her, tapping her, and even took her outside, into the rain. The rain merely poured down her face and soaked her clothing and flesh. She had to wake up. Damn it she _had_ to.

He stroked her pale face, closing his eyes in frustration. He couldn't let another woman die. He couldn't.

Her eyes fluttered, and in his remorse he saw it not.

If she's not awake…

And his lips enclosed hers, as he tried to revive her, by breathing in his soul. His soul and his heart. But the exchange was returned, and he looked and saw her emerald eyes piercing his soul, and so shaken was he that he pulled away in a hurry and he saw her smile at him.

I'll be dead soon anyway.

"Finally awake huh? Took you long enough damn it. I expect you can't walk, so let me guess, you expect _me_ to carry you?"

She only stared at him, her smile erased, and he saw the old Faye, he saw the anger. And with a smile hidden behind his turned back, he continued.

"So you got nothin to say. Guess that means I'll just leave you here. Oh well, I'll just tell Jet you killed yourself, seeing as you were _so_ shaken up when I came back. You know you can't have me right?"

"Get _over_ yourself Spike Spiegel! Like I would ever want you, you green headed lunkhead!"

And he turned and peered deep into her eyes, his face gone serious.

"So you're back? I was starting to worry."

And she couldn't help but feel sorry for calling his a lunkhead. Her eyes softened as she stared into his eyes. Was he… going to kiss her again?

A flick in the forehead answered her question as he smiled at her.

"You _know_ you want me."

She growled in rage and attempted to pummel him but her actions quickly ceased as a sharp jolt of pain shot through her body. Her teeth gritted and her eyes squeezed shut, Spike was quickly pushed out of her mind. Her damp and cold body, sneezed and with it came another round of pain. 

"Why am I in the rain damn it…" she attempted to criticize but her voice went lacking on her, and she found it now hurt to talk.

Spike swiftly lifted her and began the treck to the Swordfish, the only noises heard being the raindrops and Faye's heavy breathing on his neck. He was beside himself in want. Faye's dress had been short to start with, the black dress stopping a little above her knees, and it was now plagued with a numerous amount of holes, and the fact that the dress was sticking to her body now that she was wet. Her scent was in his nostrils, even though she was covered in blood and mud she still managed to smell good, her wet body draped across his equally wet one with her arms draped around his neck, her husky breathing in his ear…

He tightened his grip on the inside of her leg as he carried her bridal style, telling himself that it was because it was wet and his grip was slipping, while his inner devil was loving the feel of her flesh and knew how great it would feel to…

And he winced as his toe connected with a large rock. But it knocked him out of his stupor. The Swordfish was just up ahead. He loaded Faye in and started up his ship. While he told himself he was going to the Bebop, it was so strange when he wound up at her apartment.

This was gonna be a long night.

~*~*~

Meh.. that wasn't too short was it? I hope not. Sorry about the long wait for a chappie as short as this. ~__~ I've been working on my other stories. I plan to get an IY fic up soon and a new CB parody too. And its going to be based on really long words I find in the dictionary! And words that reviewers send in too! It'll be tons of stupid fun! J 


	6. Pleasure equals pain

The long awaited chapter is up!! Sorry if its kinda short. Don't hurt me! ^__^

~*~*~

"Faye… Faye, wake up."

Her eyes fluttered open, still half drunk on the pain. She had fallen asleep soon after she got in the Swordfish, the rocking knocked her out almost instantly. She was laid out on her chair in her apartment.

__

My apartment? 

Spike was looking down at her again. The same look of worry, yet now his face was a bit more relaxed. His mismatched eyes were burning deep into her, as if he was looking for something in her eyes. Her mind gasped with recognition.

Could it be that he…

"Where's the first aid kit?"

Her brow almost twitched with annoyance as she pointed him in the direction of the bathroom and mumbled "under the sink" with apparent pain in her voice. It hurt so bad to talk. It hurt so bad to know that he didn't want her. She was only a comrade, a shrewd thing he only associated with. 

But he had kissed her…

__

No, that was nothing. He was only trying to…

What _was_ he trying to do? Try as she might she couldn't come up with a reason. She had been breathing, and it wasn't like CPR was needed. She wanted to ask, but would that be prying in his business? But when did that ever stop her before? And would it be considered her business too since it was _her_ that he kissed? She wanted to know but at the same time she didn't. What if it had been an accident, and since she had kissed him back, would she get blamed for something? How could a kiss involving a little tongue action be an accident? She didn't know but she was sure Spike could come up with a reason. And she didn't want to be put in that awkward situation.

If she could just fall asleep again, she could forget it all. She might not ever have to wake up to a smelly city with crime everywhere, with buildings with mold in the corners, to a place where you could hardly even find a clean place to shop. Why did she want to wake up to that every morning? Was it because the city described her soul? Was it because she just needed a place as depressing as she was?

__

If only I could close my eyes…

And she began to slip away, her heart began to slow as she gave up, her eyes began to cloud, and she could feel every cut on her body. She could feel the new bullet holes and the one she got a few weeks ago, the one that didn't fully heal because she didn't take good care of it. She could feel every pain that had ever been inflicted upon her.

And then she began to remember…

Faces old and young flashed in front of her eyes, voices sounded in her head, buildings appeared, but it all wore out as she heard his voice yelling at her to wake up and not give up. She heard him cussing at her in every language known to man and almost laughed as he made up new ones. And as she opened her eyes, the memories wore away. But his look of relief made it almost worth the loss.

__

I want someone to love me. I want him_ to love me…_

Her eyes began to drift shut.

"Faye. I gotta take off your dress ok?"

And her head was already nodding in her drunken stupor, the words not registering until she felt his sure hands working with the clips and straps on her dress and as it slid over her head. She didn't realize until she was only in her lacy bra and panties.

__

He's only doing it cause he has too. If he can keep cool, so can I. 

But she couldn't repress the shiver as his firm hands gripped her uninjured side in a firm but gentle grasp. She didn't bother to wonder why he was doing so, his warm hands felt good on her cold, damp flesh. Though her eyes widened in surprise and her body jerked with protest as the needle nosed pliers dug into her side. Her mouth opened in soundless cries, flapping in pain. And they dug deeper and hit the butt of the bullet, then the jerk as the pliers closed around it. Her cry of pain did come when he yanked the bullet out of her side and the wound began to bleed again. Her cry left her throat sore and burning and involuntary tears leaked from her eyes. The pain of the living, how it hurt so much more that that of the dead.

"Look above the fridge," she managed to whisper around the pain. Good old alcohol would make it all better.

She felt an odd sense of remorse as his hand parted with her side, but she still felt the tingle on her skin. She heard the cabinets clatter shut and cracked open her eyes to see him come back without his shirt and pants, clad only in his boxers. With further inspection she saw his pile of dripping clothes in front of the door, forming a puddle of water, mud, and blood. Beads of water dripped from his hair and ran down his stomach and back, turning the rim of his boxers dark blue while the rest remained light blue and dry. Her hazy eyes looked at him and the bottle of strong liquor in his hand.

She weakly pushed herself up, and immediately wished she had asked for help as a strong current of pain rippled through her body. Was she so weak that she couldn't even push herself up? How many times had she seen Spike in worse condition than she, yet watch him stand up and walk around even though he was in too many casts to count? How many times had he told her he was fine? How many times… Was she really so weak?

She finished pushing herself up without even a wince of pain and took the bottle from Spike, swallowing the burning liquid and its numbing powers. It took a while for her body to go numb, her head remained pretty clear as she was used to downing alcohol, and for that she was glad. Who knew what she would do if she was too deeply intoxicated. 

He watched her remain half asleep as he finished probing her wounds for bullets. She didn't cry out again, even though every now and then she twitched or shivered, which sent him into a fit of raging hormones. He began to whistle softly to try to distract himself from her body now clothed only in almost see through panties and bra. He pulled the last bullet out, which sent a strong shiver throughout her body. Before he could stop himself, his latched his other hand beneath her breast and in attempt to try to hide his actions, he sat her back up and began to bandage her shoulder. 

He had refused to talk to her or make eye contact. If she had responded in that wounded husky voice he would have lost it, and if she would have held his eyes too long… But now that he was done he looked down at her. Her eyes met his and if he wasn't so sure that she was partially intoxicated, he would have mistaken her look for lust. It helped none when her pale hand reached out for him and placed her pale fingertips a little below a bullet graze on his chest. She ran her fingers lightly through his blood as if she didn't believe it was really there. Her eyes rose up to meet his.

"You're hurt."

"Nah. It's nothin."

Her hand rose up and she pressed on his injury. He jumped and winced.

"What the flip was that for?"

"You're hurt," she repeated in her husky voice, indicating it still hurt a bit to talk. "Hand me some gauze, some rubbing alcohol, and a bandage."

"You can't even clean up your own cuts. What makes you think I'll let you mess with mine," he asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"Shut up and hand me the gauze," she replied, grabbed the medical equipment, and placed a gentle hand on his side. "This'll sting a bit…" And she pressed the cotton swab of rubbing alcohol into his cut. 

He winced but he took the pain. And it was all he could do to keep himself from grabbing her hand and sucking his blood off of her pale fingertips. She finished wrapping him and smiled a cocky smile.

"Told you I could do it."

He rolled his eyes, kept himself from starting an argument, and tossed her a blanket he had found on her bed earlier, while settling down on the armchair. It had taken all his might to keep his cool but he had done it. And he was dang proud too. No way was she seducing him tonight. He flipped on her tv and watched the news report on the casino shooting earlier. Apparently they had planned to rob the casino and were waiting for the perfect opportunity when Faye shot her gun.

He had been flipping through the channels for a while now, finishing off the rest of Faye's liquor while he was at it. He was on his way to a drunken slumber when he heard Faye moan in her sleep. Grumpily he stood up and went to check on her. Her face was flustered and a fever had struck, most likely from the liquor. He put a wet towel on her face and called it quits.

"Sp...ike," she groaned in her fevered slumber.

Though he retained him self earlier, hearing her moan his name and the fact that he was drunk, broke his resolve and his lips locked with hers in a passionate kiss.

Her eyes shot open and she found herself being kissed. Her hands weakly pushed at his chest, trying to make it stop. She could smell the liquor heavy on his breath, she could see the dull glow of his normally crisp eyes. He was so drunk she was surprised he could stand up.

Why did he continue to tear her heart to pieces? Why was it that no one seemed to care about how much pain she was in? But as he muttered her name around a kiss, she found herself kissing him back. Her arms wrapped around his back and she pulled him to her. What would one night of pleasure do? It might help relieve the pain, after all. 

And her wounds might not have even existed, as she blocked out the pain and focused solely on him. He pulled her to the floor and though she hit with a small thud and a rack of pain that could've stopped even the strongest in their tracks, it was as if it didn't register.

"Take me," she moaned in his ear. 

And before she knew it she was swept away, hanging on to consciousness as long as she could, before knocked out by pain. 

~*~

She awoke hearing the thrum of the television.

With no Spike in her arms, as she recalled before she passed out, or anywhere for that matter. She weakly called his name a few times, with no response. Her eyes turned to where his clothes had been, to find nothing, not a puddle, not a ring of dirt, nothing. Was she dreaming again? Had she only imagined his body his warmth? Or was he already regretting her? Was she really so useless and horrid? Who would want a dead woman anyway? And she fled back into her mind.

More damaged then she had been in the beginning.

It was like she was dead again.

~*~*~

This chapter wasn't very descriptive because I didn't want any flames. If you guys want me to repost this chapter with uh… more… uh…. Intensity, submit a review and tell me. I can't read minds. Ok? Do I have to remind you that this is angst? But there are a few more chapters, don't worry. It will all become clear...*Mystic look* My mind is everywhere today, I can't focus on anything…

See that box with "submit review" in it? Push the likkle button next to it that says "go" and you get an invisible cyber cookie. Yum. 


	7. Razors and Vodka

Hello everyone…(is greeted with pissed silence.) Umm…. I'm sorry? Yeah, writers-block can be a Bi-atch. No, I will not blame this HUGE haitus on 'writers-block' but I can say that there is a fair amount of drafts for this chapter in the cyber-_trash_. Yeah, but not only that, even though my life isn't that exciting(to you guys maybe) I've been kinda occupied. I had basketball all during the summer, from 8:00am to 6:00pm, and yeah so it winter… I'm finally a _Freshman_ guys, okay? And I just hit the big, _old_ fourteen today guys(4:00am Nov. 28) while I finish this as a birthday gift for myself. Yes, enough with excuses, on with the story. I do apologize for the wait though, for those of you who cared.

Happy readings.

In truth, he hadn't meant to leave her alone, it just… _happened_. He had come to awaken, his breath heavy and stale, rancid to his own nose, to find himself entangled on the floor in a jumble of limbs and a thick blanket. There were spots upon the floor where Faye's bullet wounds had bled and stained the blanket. His own wound had bled, though not nearly as much. He rose softly and silently discovering, to his relief, that he was not completely nude, and though what happened had been passionate, it could not be called _sex_… so it was alright.

He slid into his clothes, still in a pile near the door so that they could leak on tile and not carpet. The weren't soaked but they weren't near dry. They were cold and wet and irritated his skin, all moving parts of his body(such as elbows, knees, ect…) were being chafed by the damp material that had come to smell of mildew and dirt. He shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like being idle in the same room as her, watching her sleep. It felt… odd. So to occupy himself, he wiped the mess his clothes had left, to save the woman from at least one argument when she awoke.

But it wasn't enough.

He saw Faye's bandages, used and bloody, the medicinal gauze he had used had leaked a bit due to the excessive amount he had used, scared that they become infected and thus make her sick, or any more uncomfortable. They would need to be changed when she awoke from her comfortable spot on the floor. Inspection of her first aid kit showed that there weren't enough bandages, not to mention gauze to cover her wounds. And in attempt to fill the awkwardness he felt, he fled from the apartment to run errands, something he would normally leave for someone else to do. But this time was different. Spike rarely left his comfort zone, a space of lazy-eyes looks and grins. He never let anyone in it, not since Julia died, and had never planned on it. That is, until he got drunk and let Faye see that he was a normal man, and that he did have wants. And that he was't always a bastard.

But she did see.

And that fact bothered him so much he was content to do anything that would take his mind off of the botheration. So he left the room, a small 'click' signaling his departure.

And now he was browsing through the isles of a causal store, every so often swiping a small cheap objects that he really didn't need, until he found the gauze and bandages. He also grabbed a tube of a 'No-scar' solution. Maybe Faye would want it. He rang up his unstolen items, paid, and left, a few more lighters and cigarettes heavier. He had made sure to buy Faye's favorite brand. Taken she still smoked. Make no mistake, he wouldn't just give them to her. Oh, no. That was too simple. He would make sure she went through her own share of anger and frustration before she got these.

He almost smiled at the thought of taunting her. Something he used to do so often, something he used to do to blow some steam, or build some up. Regardless, it had become a past time. When he was away, catching bounties alone and causing a fair share of trouble, it had seemed so empty, as if something was missing. Maybe that's what drove him back to his adopted family. He had been used to being alone before he met them, but then, they kind of filled that lonely space. And even though at times when he was with them he felt alone, he never really was.

"I guess that's not something you can walk away from. And then stay away," he muttered.

He was headed to the Bebop for a change of clothes before he went back to Faye's apartment. It was only 8:00. He figured she wouldn't be up till 10, like always.

He had some time to kill.

Faye's eyes had long since been leeched dry. Still on the floor though conveniently relocated to her room, after she had raided the bathroom. It seemed to have been an eternity ago, when she had scourged the bathroom. She knew it was there! And now, as she sat on the floor, her pale porcelain face directed downward. She stared at the razor blade, sitting delicately and innocently between her fingertips, not aware of the pain it could cause. It was all so morbid it was beautiful. And if she could cry any more, she would have.

No, she had never been in favor of self-infliction, and she didn't believe she was. She didn't know if she could handle any more pain. But then, hadn't the pain she had already felt numbed everything else? Would she really feel any more? She touched the blade to the vein in her wrist.

A thin line of blood appeared. And she felt it.

Damn it!! Now was not the time for her to feel! She couldn't do it, she couldn't cut herself. And in her frustration she hurled the razorblade, still tipped with blood, and watched it slide stupidly under the shut door of her room. Well, if she couldn't cause any more wounds, why not let the ones she already had bleed? And as soon as the idea hit, she ripped of every bandage covering her, her teeth and nails digging in. It took a while, and the frustration was so unbelievable that every so often she would cry out and curse the gods, if there were any, and tell them to rot in the darkest spot in hell. The gods though, never responded. But she was content with that.

And as the last bandage came off, she stood, naked now, and walked to the kitchen to recover any alcoholic beverage she could find. Turns out, there were a few. She walked back to her room, shutting the door, as a trail of blood was left behind her.

Her compact chose this moment to sound, a worried Jet had called to check up on the two Beboppers. It was cast on the floor, under the sofa pointed so that it could see from below the darkness. But the call was never answered, though it went through, and all Jet saw was crimson droplets on gray carpet before he hung up and placed a call to someone else.

Spike was ready to touchdown on the Bebop when his Com sounded. A frantic Jet appeared, asking where Faye was, asking why he saw blood. Spike responded coolly, levelheaded. 'At her apartment', and 'why the fuck would I know?' Jet screamed for him to check it out and cut off.

Only then did he allow himself to panic.

Did she try to change her wounds? But, there weren't enough bandages, she would _bleed_… Would she try to get some? No, he hoped, she would wait for him to get back. But did she know where he went?

"No," he spoke aloud to himself.

Would she think that he had left her? _Again_? His Swordfish swung around, veering slightly but getting back on course, speeding off toward his destination.

She would be all right. She _had_ to be.

He burst open the door calling her name before he even set foot inside. Then he too saw the drops of fresh blood, leading down the hall to her room. He arrived at her bedroom door in a flash, but a glint of metal did not fall from his line of vision. He picked it up. It was slightly lined with blood.

A razor blade..?

His eyes widened.

"Shit!"

He dropped it as he grasped the door handle. The fact it was locked only pissed him off, and it only withstood one kick before it splintered open, to reveal Faye lying within. And he saw her, nude, gripping a bottle of Vodka and her bed sheets, as she lay slumped on the floor at the foot of her bed. Strewn around her was at least three other bottles, who knew if there were more under the bed or in the trash, all emptied and devoid of any liquid. Her bandages were laying in a disarrayed mess, ripped and shredded, strewn across the room.

Her wounds had all been aggravated open, the careful stitch work gone, just bloody holes.

And the blood was all around her.

On her face around her mouth and hands, leaking from her wounds to the floor, forming a crimson puddle, which she soaked in. Her breathing was so shallow it was almost nonexistent. He didn't believe it as he took it in. He couldn't watch another woman die in his arms, he couldn't take it.

And the _guilt_. He couldn't help but feel as though this was all entirely his fault. If he hadn't come back, hell, if he hadn't of _left_. None of this… _none_ of this drama and turmoil would have happened. He couldn't say that they would all be happy, but it had to be better that this.

He stepped forward and gripped the woman in his arms, and he called her name and tried to force her to come back to him.

Yes, it was kinda(really) short. I plan on getting more up soon(when have we heard that?) and I think that this is drawing to an end. Oh no! What will happen? Yeah, I left you guys for a few months, and when I update, it's a cliffie. Yeeeaaaaahh, I'm a sly thang! looks around um… okay. Well, I think you can tell I changed a bit in these months, not nearly as hyper active(still am though, just not… so much) and a hell-ova-lot lazier…. --;;; me canno tell a lie. There so much to say..!!! but I'll just leave it as the fact that I'm going to get a DA(Deviant art) account soon and post a few pictures.

Oh, and uh…. Push that button that says 'review'. I love it when people talk to me! Even if they hated it, at least someone said something!! So please, do. More cookies for you.


	8. Rebirth

Hello Everyone! And welcome to the last chapter! I hope you all have enjoyed the ride!

Enjoy!

She heard him calling her name.

It was faint, frantic, _passionate_. How many times had she heard him call her name out now? How many times had he tried to bring her back from the edge? He would kill her then bring her back to life, only to start the painful cycle over again. She always wanted to go back, but the pain, all that _pain_ was out there. How many times could she face that? The rejection. The fact that he didn't want her. It was almost surreal. She'd never had a problem before, every man she'd met wanted her, and even though in most cases she turned her nose down, the fact they had wanted her made her feel good. She felt like the forbidden fruit, look but don't touch.

With Spike it was so much different.

If he did indeed want her, would he have left? Would he have killed her if he loved her, even if he could bring her back?

_I'm sorry I left you, I didn't mean to hurt you._

He always sounded so sincere, as if he truly meant it. He always tried to trick her with his tricks and games, always tried to confuse and baffle her. And she always fell for it. _This will be the last time, I know it. He wont hurt me again. _

_But then… he's already hurt me so much._

Spike looked down on her. Was this was his fault. Had he hurt her again. Was she really like this because he left for just a minute? Just because he couldn't handle everything and had to get some air? Because he temporarily fled from responsibility and _left her_? How, no, _why_? Why did everyone end up bleeding and dying in his arms? Why did he always end up feeling so responsible for the deaths? So… _shitty_. Was it really his fault that she was so damn unstable? Why couldn't she just move on? Why couldn't she just forget?

Why couldn't he?

A tear dripped softly onto her porcelain face, rolling down her cheek to rest in the corner of her mouth.

"I sorry I left you," he whispered, his face pressed against hers. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Why wouldn't she wake up? Why wouldn't she get up, slap him, scream at him, laugh at him. Why was she so silent? He lifted her into his arms, when he finally realized the amount of blood she had really lost. Even if she wanted to wake up, she probably wouldn't be able to stay conscious long due to the blood loss. Then he remembered the bandages he left in his ship. He laid her gently down and fled to his spaceship. He would wrap her major wounds and then get her to a hospital.

"Shit! Faye, don't die! Don't die!"

As soon as the last bandage was secure, she was lifted gently on his back. How light she was. As though she hadn't had a proper meal in years. He wrapped her limp arms around his neck before moving as fast as he could, without jostling her wounds too much. He had secured her in his Redtail and lifted into the air before realizing he didn't know where the hell he was going. Jets Com. was soon ringing.

"Where's the nearest hospital," he demanded before the man even had a chance to say 'hello'.

"What the hell happened, Spike?" Even through his rough, raised, voice, you could sense the worry evident in his tone.

"Damnit! Tell me now, she needs to get there now!"

"Edward!"

And even in the chaos that ensued, Spike yelling outrageous profanities, Jet insisting to know what happened, and Edward humming everything they said. Ed located a hospital rather quickly and managed to navigate a hotheaded and impatient Spike.

The doors to the hospital shook under the force with which they were opened, clattering against the walls with a sound as though they would break. Everyone watched as Spike cut in line, no one had the courage to say anything; his face was just so terrifying. As soon as Faye was taken from him, he felt the lonelier and more lost than he ever had before. And while he sat in the waiting room, he kept telling himself repetitively the same lie. Maybe, just maybe, if he said it enough, it would become reality. _His_ reality, at least.

_This really wasn't his fault._

The hours passed by slowly, a grain of sand dropping every minute. It was torturing. Jet and Edward had arrived shortly after he, but they might as well not be there, he was so focused. Jet had questioned him almost immediately. He had simply fixed the elder man with a look, then turned and zoned out again. He wouldn't tell him _shit _unless Faye decided to do so. As far as he was concerned, as long as Faye was all right, it was none of his business how she got this way.

Jet sensed the mood of the sullen Bebopper, and after throwing a silent fit of cursing, wringing his hands, and gripping his face, decided it was a hopeless cause. Spike wasn't going to crack, and even if he had threatened him, he would probably simply ended up being treated also, and not have a bit more information.

Spike was the first to enter her room. He pulled a chair up and looked at her silently, waiting for the beauty to awake. He could wait forever.

Faye gently fluttered her eyelids, and as soon as they opened, she was filled with the sudden panic of unknowing. Where was she? And why? Had she lived? If so, how? A silent scream escaped before she realized the presence of another person. A certain heat. Her head rolled weakly to the side. Her intake of breath was so sharp it hurt. Her eyes welled instantly with tears, before she blinked them away. Only one single bead managed to escape.

There he was, a chair pulled up to her bead and his head resting gently upon her bed. Her slayer and life bringer. Spike. She felt slightly panicked, but relaxed at the same time. How long had he been waiting for her to awaken? Would he leave her again?

She weakly reached out and gripped his large hand in her fragile own and brought it to her face. Spicy with a hint of cigarette smoke.

Maybe everything was going to be alright after all. Maybe this was the last time.

She sighed as she drifted off again.

Spike had awaken as soon as she gripped his hand, but feigned sleep. He smiled softly and she gripped his hand and sighed. As soon as he felt her drift off, he lifted his head to look at her. She really was beautiful. He moved a strand of unbound purple hair from her face.

Maybe she really wasn't cloudy water, maybe she just… he trailed off as he felt he was thinking too much.

_She would be fine_, he told himself before drifting back to sleep.

She was strong.

And that's a rap. I hope you have all enjoyed my angsty drama. It wasn't TOO much drama was it? Ah, as the first Fanfiction that I have ever managed to _Finish, _I really do hope you all liked it. If you have any ideas to submit about stories, just hit me up. Maybe I can make it happen.

Hopefully I wont be TOO lazy, and finally draw some stuff so I can get my D.A. account up. I'll post it on my main page when the link finally comes. Well, that's it! Thanks to MadHatter for pushing me off my lazy ass and getting my to type this up! And thanks to everyone that ever reviewed! I love you guys!

Bye for now!

Gatgo


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